I never pick up overtime shifts. Except when I do.
Now I’m stuck in this ambulance sitting in the parking lot of some hospital in an unfamiliar county, waiting on some little old lady to finish with her lunch so we can take her back to her nursing home. With a guy that has a strange, slightly unpleasant odor, and a penchant for telling war stories. I just want to take a nap, and this guy is trying to tell me about a bus crash on the side of a mountain during the first Bush administration.
Some war stories are cool. But not this guy’s war stories.
My employer is paying me time-and-a-half for this shift. And that still isn’t enough.